Tokyo Detective Chronicles

The lid of the food container was lifted, and steam carrying a fragrant aroma wafted out.

Inside was golden-brown, crispy fried shrimp tempura, next to a plate of perfectly cooked, glistening fried rice, garnished with scallions, scrambled eggs, and various other ingredients—it looked very appealing.

Fushimi picked up the spoon, scooped up a spoonful, and put it in his mouth.

Hoshizaki was sitting on a high chair opposite him, his hands supporting his chin, swinging his dangling legs and chattering away.

Fushimi was not a good listener.

He rarely gives emotional feedback to the narrator, remaining silent most of the time and only offering concise, almost stingy, responses when necessary.

It should all be meaningless drivel, and all he needs to do is nod and say "uh-huh".

Whether you listen or not, it doesn't really matter, right?

he thinks.

It's nothing more than those trivial, insignificant everyday matters at school.

But at this moment, Fushimi, who could not hear any sound, unexpectedly realized that he had never observed the girl's way of speaking so carefully before.

Wow, her expressions when she speaks are so vivid...

Sometimes she frowns, sometimes she smiles, her lips open and close very quickly, and when she smiles, a very shallow dimple appears on her left cheek.

Then he clapped his hands, put them to his cheeks, and made a silly face.

It's so vivid that you can't take your eyes off it.

"..."

As if possessed, he put down his spoon, took his phone out of his pocket, tapped the screen with his fingertip to turn on the recording function, and then gently placed the phone screen-down on the corner of the table.

He didn't know if anyone would listen to the recording, but... he just inexplicably wanted to do it.

I want to hold onto something amidst this silent clamor...

Perhaps tomorrow, after her hearing returns, she will realize that it was just another ordinary rambling from a young girl.

Fushimi picked up the spoon again and scooped up a spoonful of golden fried rice.

The rice grains melted between his teeth, and the familiar taste evoked memories.

My gaze lingered on her face, but my memories kept drifting away.

In fact, he taught Hoshizaki Rina how to make this fried rice.

It's not some amazing lost recipe, nor is it the name of a famous restaurant; it's just the homemade fried rice that Fushimi ate countless times in his childhood in his previous life.

My mother, father, grandmother... every adult in the family knows how to make it, and the taste is pretty much the same.

For a long time after obtaining professional-level [Cooking Skills], Fushimi would stir-fry every now and then, striving for perfection in saltiness, heat, and the number of times he stir-fried.

"..."

To be honest, it was very delicious, but it wasn't the taste he wanted.

The more times he tried, the more delicious his fried rice became, but the further it got from the feeling he remembered...

He later realized that what was missing was not the technology, but the time that could never be returned to, and the people he could never see again.

So I gave up.

Until one ordinary afternoon, Hoshizaki Rina accidentally ate his fried rice and was amazed by it, so she kept pestering him to teach her how to make it.

Fushimi couldn't resist her persistent pleading, so he taught her.

And then... Fushimi finally tasted that flavor again...

Too much salt and too much oil caused most of the rice to stick to the bottom of the pot, resulting in a rough texture, to put it more sensibly.

Fushimi laughed out of nowhere. So the wonderful things in his memory were actually such unpalatable things?

No way...

To Hoshizaki's astonishment, he finished the entire plate of that awful fried rice.

From then on, fried rice became Hoshizaki's signature dish.

I would make it for Fushimi every few days.

She made adjustments time and time again, and her cooking skills improved more and more, but the taste deviated further and further from the vague feeling in Fushimi's memory, and it also became more and more like Hoshizaki Rina's personal style.

She started adding her own interpretation... a small handful of corn kernels to make the color look better, finely chopped ham, and an extra egg...

Fushimi never pointed out these deviations.

Because he discovered that, at some point, what he was looking forward to was no longer the vague taste of his memory.

That concludes my recollection.

He looked up, his gaze returning to the girl's face opposite him.

Hoshizaki suddenly spoke faster than usual, his cheeks flushed red at a visible speed, and even the roots of his ears turned crimson.

She waved her hands in a flustered manner, her eyes darting around, no longer daring to look him in the eye, her lips moving faster as if she were trying her best to explain or deny something.

Fushimi found it both amusing and somewhat endearing.

How can talking to yourself make you so embarrassed?

What an idiot.

Just then, he saw a tiny, soft white orb of obsession light, like a newly born firefly, quietly emerge behind Hoshizaki's head, swaying gently.

"..."

Fushimi suddenly realized that perhaps it was a mistake to only record the audio.

They should enable speech-to-text functionality.

Based on Hoshizaki's expression and the atmosphere at the moment, he could only guess that it was probably not a bad thing.

So he smiled at her naturally.

Then, he nodded firmly and made a sound:

"Um."

The "hmm" was so soft that even he himself couldn't hear it.

But Hoshizaki was stunned.

All her movements and expressions, that vivid shyness and panic, froze at that moment.

She stared blankly at Fushimi, her eyes wide open, his smiling face clearly reflected in her dark pupils.

Without warning, large tears rolled down from those beautiful eyes.

The blood flowed silently down her flushed cheeks, gathered at her chin, and then dripped, spreading into dark dots on the chest of her light-colored T-shirt.

Fushimi's smile froze.

His heart felt like it was being gently squeezed by something. He looked at the girl's face and didn't know what to say for a moment.

It seemed to be the first time he had ever felt helpless and bewildered in front of this girl he thought he knew so well.

His lips opened and closed, but he couldn't utter any syllables, nor did he know what syllables he should utter.

He didn't know what she said.

He didn't know why she was crying.

He had no idea what he had just promised the girl.

In his bewildered gaze, Hoshizaki pursed his trembling lips and suddenly rubbed his eyes hard with the back of his hand.

Then she leaned forward, rested her elbows on the table, and tremblingly extended her right little finger toward him.

Fushimi recognized the gesture.

Is this... a pinky promise?

In Yingzhou, this is called "finger cutting".

It originates from a folk tale from the Edo period about a vow made between a courtesan and her client.

Legend has it that those who break their vows will have their fingers cut off by celestial beings, or will have to swallow a thousand needles...

He didn't know what Hoshizaki was making a promise to him, but of course, such a thing had no binding force; in fact, it was rather childish.

Fushimi looked at the slightly trembling little finger, as if it held all the girl's courage and determination.

Unable to refuse, I subconsciously reached out and gently hooked my little finger around the other person's.

The moment their fingertips touched, Hoshizaki's tears flowed even more fiercely, but she tried her best to curve the corners of her mouth upwards, making a bright smile through her tears.

Then, she loosened her little finger, reached forward with both hands, and grasped his hand that he hadn't had time to pull back.

Hoshizaki's palms were soft, warm, and slightly damp. With a gentle yet irresistible force, she pulled Fushimi's hand toward her chest.

Fushimi did not resist.

She guided his calloused hand to gently press it against her smooth, burning cheek.

Warm tears streamed down my fingertips.

At this moment, Fushimi truly realized that he had gone too far.

He felt he should immediately clarify the misunderstanding, tell her he couldn't hear anything, and that it might have been an unintentional response.

He spoke, his voice hoarse: "Hoshizaki, I..."

He hadn't finished speaking.

Hoshizaki suddenly jumped off the high chair, ran across the table, stretched out his arms, and hugged his neck tightly.

Her cheek was buried in the crook of his neck, and warm tears quickly soaked his skin.

The hug came so suddenly, accompanied by a slight sob after crying.

Fushimi couldn't bring himself to say any of the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

His stiff body gradually relaxed in Hoshizaki's warm and soft embrace... He raised his hand, hesitated for a moment, and finally just gently patted her back, which was trembling slightly from sobbing.

He missed his chance to be honest.

Just as Fushimi's emotions were churning, the sphere of obsession behind Hoshizaki's head shattered before him, turning into a wisp of light that flowed into his body.

[Skill Acquired: Lip Reading lv2: 500/1000 (Professional Level)]

In an instant, a wealth of knowledge and intuition about lip movements, muscle movement patterns, and contextual analysis flooded into my mind...

Slowly, Hoshizaki loosened his arms from around his neck and took a small step back.

Her face was still wet with tears, and her eyes and the tip of her nose were red, yet she broke into a clear and bright smile, like the first rainbow after the rain, without any gloom.

She took a deep breath, as if she had made up her mind.

Then she closed her eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering gently, leaned forward, and softly pressed her lips to Fushimi's cheek.

They paused for a moment, then parted ways.

Like a butterfly's fleeting moment on a petal.

Soft, warm, damp with tears, and carrying the faint scent of her shower gel.

Fushimi stood frozen in place, his pupils slightly contracting.

Hoshizaki took a step back, raised her hand and forcefully wiped away the tears on her face, then faced him, her lips opening and closing clearly and slowly.

This time, Fushimi understood.

She said, "Goodnight, Iori."

After saying that, she turned around, her steps a little unsteady but she rushed quickly toward the entrance, not even bothering to grab the food box, opened the door, and her figure hurriedly disappeared into the night outside.

Fushimi sat alone at the table, remaining motionless for a long time.

Then slowly raise your hand and gently touch your cheek with your fingertips.

The places she had kissed still seemed to retain a moist warmth.

He stared at his phone, which was still recording, and remained silent for a long time before finally speaking softly to the empty doorway, a sentence only he could hear:

"Good night."